


Almost

by orphan_account



Category: Cinderella 2015
Genre: F/M, Prequel, almosts, close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen year old Ella and Kit come close to meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

“Ella, slow down!” She heard her father laugh from behind her, barely keeping up as she bounded over the fields. They were overgrown, this time of year. Full of wildflowers and long grass, and the horses that had been moved into them did no good to ease the rapid rate in which they grew. Ella didn’t even look back, finding herself caught up in wonder at the world around her. The willow trees were swaying, the sweet smell of spring enveloping her.

Cruelty and darkness seemed impossible in such a world, and she would have been content to stray into the unkept lands, to wander in it forever. Only, her father could not be allowed that sense of awe and wonder when he looked upon seemingly simple things. He did not possess that gift, it would seem only Ella had that exceptional quality.

“Ella!” He walked with a cane, but it was more to assist him in walking rather than to aid a limp. It was for pure efficiency, or so he insisted, and he proceeded to wave it a little as he hastened his speed to catch up to her, dodging numerous rabbit holes as he reached the foot of the slight slope they had been descending.

Despite his assistant, they always took walks. Ever since her mothers death, Ella and her father took walks. Originally just to her mothers grave and back, to the little country church a mile or two on the estate away from the manse where all their family had been buried for years. In the good months it had been everyday, but in the winter they had been restricted by ice and snow and wind and by then the daily visits became ritual weekly visits. Years passed, and now they walked everyday when the weather was favourable, around the fields and into the forest, if they felt ambitious even to town and back to call on friends, and following a storm or blizzard they personally made the rounds about the tenant cottages, to check that all were well and see to it that any damages were mended.

Today, it was spring. Her father had wished to be read to, but his daughter had refused to let the fresh delight of the pure blue sky and green, green grass go unadmired and so they made one of their first spring time walks about the fields facing the forest. None of the cottages were situated there, the lands occasionally used by noblemen hunting in forest under the protection of the crown (and as all land was the kings, effectively, no landholder could object), and so crops were not sewn and very few animals ever grazed there.

“Ella, my darling, surely the clouds do not need chasing.” The elderly merchant smiled, recalling fondly a game the pair had once played (back when there was a third player available to join in) involving clouds and an impossible objective. That earned a laugh from Ella, who continued to return her sun hat to her head and adventurously risked the untrodden path that neared the first few clusters of trees that heralded a forest.

“Dreams need chasing, Father, and clouds are the closest we might get to dreams!” She called back as she threw her head back to the sky, the pale glow of spring sun warming her skin. Her statement, however, was not quite true. The physical embodiment of dreams oft changes with the person, but for Ella dreams would not always be clouds, distant and unobtainable forms. It would be magic, it would be a glass slipper and a creased paper butterfly, and it would, most importantly, be a mysterious apprentice that captured her heart.

* * *

 

“Must we chase the stag?” Kit grumbled discontentedly, his tone low so as to not attract attention. Regrettably, the Grand Duke overheard his one-sided conversation with himself.

“How would we catch it if we did not chase it, Your Highness?” Eric snorted, failing to see any logic in the question his young companion posed himself. The boy, now fourteen and nearly a man, seemed intent on questioning everything about the way society worked and the stoic, narrow minded and ruthlessly determined Grand Duke could do nothing but tell him how and why he was, exactly, wrong in his questioning.

“I meant-” The prince fumbled with what exactly he did mean. “I mean, why should we hunt. There is plenty of meat remaining in the winter stores-”

“It’s a sport, it’s recreational.” He schooled. “It is for fun, with some practical elements. Nothing ever compares to hunting, the thrill of the chase.” The world knew he needed some fun, an adrenaline filled distraction from his circumstances. Sitting at a desk, listening to a lecture on German grammar, and reading great big, dusty books with philosophical allegory did not improve his sombre moods, his distant and despondent mannerisms. Even his father admitted that the Crown Prince needed to tear himself away from the pages of books and down from the sky, install some realism and also push him along on the path of.. Forgetting? His Majesty would never want for his son to forget, but it might be necessary in order for Christophers attention becoming undivided in preparation for his role as a prince come of age, and eventually a king.

“It doesn’t seem all that thrilling.” He pointed out, as the entire hunting party was dismounting and preparing for a long stay in a clearing of trees, the dogs being guided around by the kennel boys in hopes of them picking up the scent once more. At the older mans hard stare, he returned his eyes to his saddle, which he began to furiously adjust. The Grand Dukes eyes went to his own belt, and as a thought sprung to mind he unbuckled the ornamental knife that rested there. His own father had given that to him on his first hunt, when he was no born than twelve, and anyone he had met him had suffered through endless retellings of the momentous tale.

“Today you will be the one to make the kill.” He informed the young one, extending to him the knife. “And you will come to understand.” Kit had the option to refuse the offered handle, to turn his shoulder and refuse, point blank, to do the ‘honours’ of slaughtering the poor animal the dogs would corner.

He had the option to remain a while in the clearing, to take a walk and happen upon a merchant and his daughter who were out on an afternoon stroll, not ten minutes away. He had the option, but he didn’t take it. He knew how much that knife meant to the Grand Duke to be so rude and defiant to him. As his hand closed itself over the handle, the carvings smooth ridges against his skin, the hounds took up the stags sent, and the hunt was on the move again.

* * *

 

Ella and her father entered that clearing as soon as the last horse had escaped sight of it, but they could hear the baying of the hounds and the charge of horses from ahead. They knew who had been there, and the merchant did not remain long enough to see the hunting party haul the carcass back to that same clearing, it’s throat weeping blood, the cut being made by a shaky, unskilled hand. Still, Ella was no fool, and knowing what caused the dogs to bark, the men to give chase to the animal, she just hoped that whoever did the deed would sometime see the error of their ways. She needn’t have worried, Kit already knew it was wrong to harm another creature.


End file.
